


The World Turned Upside Down

by avxry



Series: the first line [5]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: 5+1, Anxiety, Bickering, Crisis, Jamilton - Freeform, M/M, Modern AU, Parties, Tags Are Hard, Trains, alexander has a crisis, and somehow they end up kissing idk, five things one thing, the world turned upside down, they get drunk, they get stuck on a train, this is a mess, thomas has to calm down
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 10:27:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8368801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avxry/pseuds/avxry
Summary: Five times the world turned upside down and one time it turned right side up.





	

**Author's Note:**

> gentleman of the jury, i'm sorry, bear with me, this is the biggest cliche in history

The world turned upside down.

Thomas Jefferson walked into the building and into Alexander Hamilton's life, as if it were nothing, as if they weren't destined to be life-long enemies. Of course, they hadn't known that at the time, but still.

Everything changed when Jefferson arrived. Alexander had to share the spotlight, something he wasn't excited about. He had always been Washington's favorite, and he still was – just not as unopposed as before.

Alexander could surely say that Thomas Jefferson wrecked his world, in more ways than one. He strode into office, he strode into Washington's cabinet, he strode into power, and Alexander glared at him every step of the way.

And it didn't help that the man was ridiculously attractive. He had dark, captivating eyes, a bushel of tight curls atop his head, and a body that could (and did) make everyone swoon at first glance. And when he smiled (which was rare, but God, when he did), it was so charming and beautiful and full of light and Alexander hated how susceptible he was to Jefferson's beauty.

Thomas Jefferson would be the death of him, he knew it.

~ * ~

Alexander hated trains. He much preferred airplanes as a mode of long-distance travel.

And yet, here he was, sitting in a train car with none other than Thomas Jefferson perched on the seat across from him. They were on assignment to have a meeting with someone important in the South. Washington forced them both to go under the pretense that Jefferson would be useful as a native of the area and Alexander would be useful because of his knowledge of the financial affairs of the nation.

He figured Washington just wanted them both out of the way for a few days.

They had met up at the train station and bickered for a solid seven minutes about where to sit before Alexander just rolled his eyes and picked a compartment, telling Jefferson that he could sit somewhere else, if he liked.

Jefferson took it as a challenge and sat directly across from Alexander in the same compartment, daring him to start another argument.

They were surprisingly quiet, Alexander scribbling furiously in a notebook and Jefferson reading some seemingly boring novel, if the cover was any indication.

Everything was going mostly smoothly – until the train stopped. It slowed to a halt, squeaking against the rails as the lights shut off. Alexander worriedly looked out the window at the sun falling below the trees.

"Why have we stopped?" he asked, as if Jefferson had the answer.

"How should I know?" Jefferson snapped, placing a bookmark in his novel and setting it to the side, peering out of the compartment. He was met with the image of other people doing the same, asking each other what was going on.

After a few minutes, emergency lights flickered on.

Eventually, a man walks down the aisle, saying, "We're sorry, folks, the train's havin' some difficulty. We'll have her up and runnin' again soon. Thank you for your patience."

Jefferson groans and returns to the compartment. "He said they'll have it running –"

"I heard him," Alexander interrupted icily. Of _course_ , he got stuck on this damn train with _Jefferson_ , of all people.

"Don't get snappy, Hamilton," Jefferson retorted, taking his place back across from Alexander, crossing his legs elegantly and assuming an air of arrogance (what's new?).

"Don't tell me what to do, _Jefferson_ ," Alexander spit, tossing his notebook to the floor and stretching out on the bench.

"Are you doing to be this intolerable for the duration of the trip?"

"I'm certainly going to try."

Jefferson rolled his eyes and stared out the window, trying to ignore Hamilton's overwhelming presence (and failing; why was the man so . . . so . . . attention-grasping?).

Eventually, Alexander retrieved his notebook and began scrawling again messily, tongue sticking out of his mouth. Before Jefferson could correct himself, he thought Hamilton looked endearing (and then, of course, felt the strong urge to smack himself).

After nearly an hour of no mental stimulation, Jefferson sighed. "What are you writing about?"

"None of your business."

"Would it kill you to cooperate?"

"Most likely."

Jefferson let out a groan. "We're stuck here for who knows how long, and you can't find it in you to have a pleasant conversation?"

"Pleasant conversation?" Alexander scoffed. "It's hard to have even an _unpleasant_ conversation with you."

"Fine," Jefferson remarked. He turned away and reassumed his position staring out the window.

A little while later, someone came around with a trolley, offering food, drinks, and apologies for the wait. Alexander took a small sandwich, Jefferson took a bottle of water, and they resumed their silence.

The night fell dark and the train got cold. Jefferson reached into one of his luggage bags and pulled out a blanket, wrapping it around himself tightly.

Alexander, much to his own dismay, had only brought a sweatshirt. He tugged it over his head and tried to keep writing, but his fingers had gone ice cold. He groaned and shut the notebook, throwing it to the floor in annoyance.

"Finally realize your ideas aren't good enough to be recorded?" Jefferson commented airily, raising an eyebrow.

"I can barely feel my damn fingers," Alexander snapped, shoving his hands into his pockets. Then he glared at Jefferson. "But I can still feel them enough to strangle you."

"Feisty," Jefferson said. He turned away again.

The car filled with silence, engulfing the two of them. Somewhere in the background, they heard one particular car having much more fun than they were, laughing and cheering about something. Jefferson found himself jealous. Why did they get to have fun in such a disaster while he was stuck with Hamilton?

He announced suddenly, "I'm going to the diner car. Don't join me."

"Wasn't planning on it," Alexander responded, rolling his eyes, and Jefferson left the compartment, leaving him alone in the silence. He sighed. This was not the trip he had in mind. To be fair, he hadn't imagined it being _much_ more enjoyable, but he had at least hoped to have reached their destination by now.

He tried to sleep, stealing Jefferson's blanket, curling up, and trying to ignore the sounds of mirth from a few compartments over and trying to not wish he was at home in his warm bed.

Jefferson returned to the compartment nearly two hours later, feeling significantly warmer and tipsier than he had when he left.

"Hamilton!" he exclaimed, throwing his arms out with a little smile. Then he nearly scowled. "That's my blanket."

"You left," Alexander replied, not even looking up at the man towering above him. "I was cold."

Jefferson made a face and sighed. "Sit up." It sounded less like a demand and more like a resignation. Alexander raised an eyebrow.

"Um, no."

"Sit up, Alexander," Jefferson repeated. His name sounded weird in his voice; it sounded maybe like a melody. Alexander pretended he didn't enjoy it. He sat up.

Jefferson plopped down beside him, curling his legs up, and taking half of the blanket, tucking himself underneath it beside Alexander, who stared incredulously.

"What are you doing?"

"Sharing my blanket with you."

"How much did you have to drink?"

"Not enough."

Alexander huffed and held himself tighter, making sure he wasn't even close to touching Jefferson. But the warmth radiating from him was nice. It filled the blanket and warmed him and he was infinitely bitter about it.

He was close to sleep when Jefferson spoke. "Why do you think Washington put us together on this?"

Alexander raised an eyebrow at him. "You really want to make casual conversation while we're practically cuddling?"

"We're not _cuddling_ ," Jefferson denied, as if the thought was the most disgusting idea Alexander had ever had. "I was just asking."

"I'm not in the mood to answer."

"Hamilton, for just one minute, can you treat me like a real person?"

"I always treat you like a real person," Alexander countered. "A _person_ I _really_ don't want to talk to."

"Fine," Jefferson grumbled bitterly, "I don't know why you hate me so much –"

Alexander rolled his eyes. "You're a pompous asshole who thinks you're better than everyone else –"

"I do not," Jefferson interrupted argumentatively.

"Oh, really?" Alexander replied. "Tell that to your outrageous purple suits."

"I will take this blanket away," Jefferson threatened. And then, quieter, "And for your information, I _don't_ think I'm better than everyone else. The opposite, actually."

Alexander curiously raised his eyebrows at the other man. "I think you've had too much to drink."

Jefferson nodded sloppily. "Probably, but – but seriously, Hamilton. I was being serious. I don't know why you hate me."

" _You_ hate _me_ ," Alexander pointed out, tugging the blanket up to his chin, feeling more and more uncomfortable with the conversation.

Jefferson turned to face him entirely, looking him in the eyes, his expression far too honest for Alexander's comfort.

"No, I don't," Jefferson said. His eyes were entirely serious, a little glazed over because of the drinking, but Alexander was unnerved by how candid the man looked.

"Yes, you do," Alexander nodded.

Jefferson shakes his head, his eyebrows changing to give him a look of confusion and vulnerability. "I don't hate you, Hamilton. You're annoying as shit, but . . ." He shook his head, turning away.

The world seemed to be turning upside down. What was this? Jefferson's hatred for him was nearly a fact of life.

Alexander was oddly touched, and it felt weird. What was happening to Jefferson? If he was this agreeable when tipsy, maybe he ought to give him a bottle of whiskey for Christmas.

Alexander pursed his lips and sighed. "I guess I don't hate you either."

Jefferson looked back up at him, looking more surprised than he should have, and damn if it wasn't cute. "But you said –"

"I know what I said," Alexander cut in bitterly. "I hate your opinions, and you're the most insufferable man I've ever met, but I can't say that I hate you."

Jefferson blinked at him for a moment. A grin slowly spread across his face, and he nudged Alexander in the shoulder. "I didn't know you felt that way," he teased, and Alexander groaned and rolled his eyes.

"Shut up," he said. "I didn't say I _liked_ you."

"Whatever you say," Jefferson replied in a sing-song voice, still smiling a little to himself.

Just then, there was a jolt of the train, and it roared back to life, heat blasting through the vents. There was an announcement about the state of the train, and after a few minutes, it was moving again and the compartment was warming up.

Alexander removed himself from beneath the blanket and transitioned to the other side of the compartment. Jefferson looked mildly inconvenienced, but didn't say anything.

Alexander resolved to get Jefferson drunk more often.

~*~

Washington's home was lovely. It was modest yet beautiful and welcoming, and though he loved it, Alexander would rather have not been there.

Washington was hosting a party for influential people, and Alexander had been invited. There was an unspoken warning against not attending that he caught in Washington's tone.

So here he was, sipping on his wine, watching all of the _influential people_ chat about _important things_ and he just couldn't care less.

John Adams tried to have a conversation with him earlier, but he not-so-subtly turned him down, not caring if he was being rude (he was).

Everyone gave him sly looks out of the corners of their eyes, which was just as well. He didn't want to talk to them anyway. He had so much work to do; this was just wasting time.

Washington approached him with a smile. "Alexander! Pray tell, why are you isolating yourself?"

"My apologies, sir," Alexander nodded at him, "I'm just tired."

"Nonsense!" Washington exclaims. "Enjoy yourself. This is supposed to be relaxing."

Alexander couldn't decide whether to agree with Washington to spare himself further conversation or be completely honest and admit that he disliked nearly everyone at this event.

"I will do my best," he settled, taking another sip of his wine; he was going to need it.

Washington suddenly spotted someone off to the side and smiled widely. "Mr. Jefferson – come here!"

Alexander turned to look at the man and saw that his smile was strained, clearly pretending to be enjoying his time here. Alexander reluctantly related.

"Sir," he greeted warmly, "you have thrown a lovely party."

"Ah, well," Washington smiles, "it was mostly Martha's doing. She's the better half of us."

They made pleasant conversation for another few minutes, Alexander and Jefferson subtly making jabs at each other whenever possible. Washington gave them both a look but decided it was better than usual. After a moment, someone called him away and he left with a warm smile.

Alexander raised an eyebrow at Jefferson. "Suck-up."

Jefferson snorted. "As if. You're so far up his ass you can see through his eyes."

"If I could see through his eyes," Alexander said with a wave of his hand, "then maybe he would see you as _I_ see you: an arrogant asshole who doesn't know a thing about running a country."

"You're just jealous that Daddy has another favorite now," Jefferson taunted, then groaned. "I need another drink if I'm to deal with you."

"You're welcome to go away," Alexander suggested, taking a swig and finishing off his own drink.

They both kept returning to the bar, drinking glass after glass of wine until their speech was slurred and their insults were weak and cheap.

They got loud, shouting over the sounds of the gentle chattering of the other guests. They began to disturb the peace, and others were staring. They couldn't bring themselves to care, they were so engrossed in whatever they were arguing about (foreign affairs? Lighthouses? Who knows?).

Washington finally came over and grasped them by the necks of their shirts. "Listen boys; I didn't want to do this, but you've left me no choice."

He dragged the two of them like children, shoving them in a room and locking the door. He shouted through the wall, "Behave!"

And then they were alone, incredibly drunk and incredibly frustrated.

"This is stupid," Alexander grumbled, falling onto a sofa in the center of the room. It looked like a study, a desk at the end of the room, a few paintings in frames on the walls.

Jefferson slurred, "If you'd keep your damn mouth shut, we wouldn't be n'this situti – situation."

"Shut up, Jeffer-asshole," Alexander retorted, stumbling over his words. He drooped down onto the armrest of the sofa.

"Hamil-jerk."

"Jeffer-stupid."

"Hamil –"

"God, do you ever sh - shut up?" Alexander groaned, shutting his eyes and rubbing his temples.

"You're one to talk," Jefferson retorted with a hiccup. He clumsily sat down on the sofa beside Alexander, who gave him a look of disgust.

"Get off the couch."

"Where'd you prefer me to sit?"

"On the floor, all the way over there."

"Absolutely not."

"Absolutely yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"Alexander, I am not moving."

"Don't call me Alexander."

"Alexander."

"Thomas," Alexander countered, raising an eyebrow.

Thomas turned his nose up. "You're right, that is weird."

Alexander exclaims, "Ha! I'm right!"

Thomas rolled his eyes, tossing his hand around in the air sloppily. "Whatever you say."

"You admit that I'm right," Alexander preened, sticking his nose in the air. "Thomas Jeffer-jerk admits that I'm right."

"Call me Jeffer-jerk one more time," he threatened.

Alexander looked him in the eye daringly. "Jeffer-jerk."

Jefferson pounced, landing on top of Alexander roughly, trapping him against the armrest of the couch, their faces too close for comfort. Their breaths collided, and the world turned upside down, Alexander losing focus on everything but Jefferson's captivating eyes and strong grip on his arms.

Alexander swallowed thickly. He could smell Jefferson's wine-tainted breath, could feel their bodies pressed together, but he couldn't bring himself to push him away.

Jefferson wasn't sure how he ended up in this position, but he _was_ sure that Alexander looked positively delicious, and that his mouth was _right there_ , and he didn't know why he felt the urge to kiss him until their lips were numb, but he felt it, he wanted to, he leaned in –

The door opened suddenly. Beneath the frame stood George Washington, looking at them as if they just committed a murder. The two scrambled apart, blushing furiously.

Washington's surprised expression turned tired. He shut his eyes momentarily and shook his head. "You're both excused from work tomorrow. Get out of my house."

The two men scurried away, trying to forget everything about the night.

~*~

It had been a long day. Jefferson had three meetings about three things he didn't know enough about and he had signed about a hundred documents, none of which were important enough to warrant any discussion. He just wanted to go home, have a glass of wine, and sleep for as many hours as he could manage.

He slid on his jacket and grabbed his suitcase, shutting the door to his office on his way out. He made his way to the door briskly, trying to avoid anyone still there who would have something to say to him.

He was close to the door when he passed Hamilton's office, the door half open. He caught a glimpse of Hamilton lying on the floor, unmoving, and briefly wondered if the man had passed out.

Against his better judgement, he called, "Hamilton?" as he pushed the door open gently.

A groan came from inside.

The door opened further and Jefferson saw that Hamilton was lying on the floor, staring blankly at the ceiling. "Hamilton, what the hell are you doing?"

"I'm having a crisis, go away."

Jefferson looked at him again and sighed, walking inside to stand directly above him. He pursed his lips, flashing an expression of dismay. Finally, he sighed and dropped to the floor at Hamilton's head. "What happened?"

"Why do you care?"

"Stop questioning it and just talk."

Alexander raised his eyebrows, turning to look at him. "Did Thomas Jefferson just tell me to talk?"

Jefferson gave him a stern look. "One time only, take it or leave it."

Alexander considered for a moment, looking at Jefferson as if he had just exploded. Finally, he sighed and dropped his head onto the floor. "Fine. I'm stressed. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"What are you stressed about?" Jefferson continued, ignoring Alexander's biting remark.

Alexander scoffed. "Take a guess. I've got Washington hounding me to get these papers done, and when I do get them done, I send them to you and you tell me they're all wrong –"

"Well, they are," Jefferson defended, but it wasn't hostile. He was smiling, just a little.

Alexander glared at him out of the corner of his eye. "I thought you wanted to help."

"Sorry, sorry," Jefferson said, throwing his hands up. "Continue."

" _Anyway_ ," he punctuated, "I've got those papers, and my friends are scattered to the winds, and I can _feel_ myself _dying_ –"

"You're dying?" Jefferson interrupts, and there was maybe too much concern in his voice.

"Not literally," Alexander replied, sighing. He sat up then, facing Jefferson, who studied him. His eyes displayed his exhaustion, bloodshot and sunken in, his skin drained of color, his hands ever so slightly twitching. "But mentally. I just . . . I'm just losing it."

Jefferson looked at him, taking in his vulnerability, examining his image. He felt something tug at him, something worrisome. He seemed to _care_ about Hamilton – troubling.

That didn't stop him from saying, "Come here, Hamilton."

Alexander looked at him skeptically. "What?"

"I _said_ come here," he repeated, gesturing with his hands. Alexander still stared at him doubtfully but leaned forward and crawled toward him a little more. Jefferson gestured again. "Turn around."

Alexander sat back on his heels, shaking his head. "You've mistaken me for someone who trusts you."

"Trust me this once," Jefferson persuaded, nodding at him. Alexander gave him another look but turned around anyway.

He startled when he felt Jefferson's hands on his shoulders, gently pushing him down. "Sit."

Alexander whipped his head around, glaring at the man behind him. Jefferson just raised an eyebrow until Alexander resigned, sitting down and crossing his legs, back still tense.

He nearly gasps when he feels Jefferson's hands in his hair, dragging his fingertips along his scalp, gently brushing out knots.

"What are you doing?" Alexander asked, his voice betraying how uncomfortable he was.

"I'm braiding your hair, Hamilton," Jefferson replied, rolling his eyes. "Now – what were you saying?"

Alexander didn't answer right away. As far as he was concerned, his world was turning upside down – Jefferson was sitting in his office, braiding his hair, telling him to talk about his feelings. This was entirely new, but – but not entirely unwelcome. It was strange – Jefferson's hands were calming and grounding and he found himself relaxing under his touch.

"Um – yeah," Alexander continued, trying to not become overwhelmed by Jefferson's cologne, "I'm just – swamped. I've got so much to do."

"Like what?"

"Like – like the papers. I have to get them written, and then I have to get them approved, and I always have meetings, so many meetings. And I don't know what I'm doing."

"What do you mean?" Jefferson asked, actually concerned. His fingers glided through Alexander's hair, tugging and French braiding, and he secretly couldn't believe that he finally had the opportunity to touch it – he had always wanted to, had always felt the urge to run his hands through it. It was just as soft as he had imagined.

Alexander sighed heavily, shutting his eyes. "When I was a kid, I wanted to change the world. I thought I had a shot, and I wasn't going to throw it away; I was going to _do_ something." He shook his head slightly in disappointment. "It just seems like I haven't done anything, and I never will."

Jefferson's hands stopped working, pausing to stare at the back of Hamilton's head incredulously. "Are you serious?"

Alexander raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

Jefferson dropped the strands of hair and leaned forward to stare Alexander in the face. "Hamilton, I may disagree with you on everything you ever say, but you've been incredibly influential. You're non-stop; you've changed the entire government."

Alexander looked at him with some kind of glint in his eye, feeling his heart swell more than he would have liked it to. "Really?" he breathed.

"Yes, really," Jefferson nodded honestly. He met Alexander's eyes and nodded again.

He fell back behind him again and reassumed his position braiding his hair. Alexander was quiet, not sure what to say. What could he say to his enemy, who was braiding his hair and telling him that he was important?

"Thank you," he whispered, looking down at the ground.

"You're welcome," Jefferson replied, smiling to himself a little as he continued to play with Alexander's hair. They were silent for a few minutes, just breathing and thinking. It all felt a little too intimate for their relationship, but they liked it; it was warm and companionable and Alexander really wanted to turn around and look Jefferson in the eyes and –

And what? What would he do, given the chance? Kiss him? That was ridiculous, impossible – but it was the first answer his mind supplied him. He wanted to kiss Jefferson.

Before he could consider all of the problems with this, Jefferson spoke. "Your hair is really soft. What shampoo do you use?"

Alexander stumbled to regain his train of thought. "Oh, um – it's some tea tree mint thing."

"It's really nice," Jefferson commented quietly, and thus began their first casual conversation. They talked about nothing and everything, little things they did when no one was watching and their craziest college stories. They laughed at jokes and sobered at honesty. Jefferson has braided and brushed through Alexander's hair repeatedly, giving it structure just to let it fall back down again.

They didn't leave until half the lights in the building were flicked off, notifying them of the time.

Alexander sighed. "We should probably leave."

"We have work tomorrow," Jefferson agreed, running his hands through Alexander's hair one last time before rising to his feet. He reached a hand down for Alexander, who took it and lifted himself up.

They stared at each other for a moment, not speaking, just thinking, and Alexander almost thought Jefferson was going to kiss him, they were so close and quiet and honest.

He tried to not be disappointed when he didn’t. He simply smiled at him warmly, their hands still connected.

Jefferson picked up his suitcase with his free hand, Alexander doing the same, and they walked toward the door in silence.

Before they pushed it open, Alexander turned to Jefferson resolutely. "Thank you," he said somberly, giving Jefferson the most honest expression he could.

Jefferson smiled down at him, and Alexander was nearly overwhelmed by how beautiful he was; how had he not noticed before? Jefferson was beautiful, and charming, and occasionally kind, and God, if he didn't stop he was going to kiss him right there –

"Any time, Hamilton," Jefferson responded, squeezing his hand once. Then he raised an eyebrow. "Just don't expect me to go easy on you in the next meeting."

Alexander grinned. "Wouldn't dream of it."

They parted, exiting the building and walking in separate directions, and Alexander couldn't help but wish they were going to the same place.

~*~

Jefferson rushed out of the room faster than usual; the meeting had been particularly brutal. He had been going at it when Hamilton, as usual, until something clicked and it all hit him at once and _he needed to get out of there_.

As soon as Washington let them go, he was out the door and headed down a mostly unused hallway. He found an empty room and shut himself inside.

 _Breathe_.

Damn anxiety. He was a grown man, why couldn't he control his own brain? Why was he still unable to calm himself down?

The door opened and he tried to look to see who it was.

"Jefferson?" asked the timid voice of Hamilton, who was shutting the door behind him, thank God. It was bad enough that Hamilton had to see him like this; if the others did . . .

"Are you okay?" Hamilton continued, walking toward him and looking up at his face. "Look at me; are you okay?"

Jefferson complied, looking down at the small man in front of him and nodding slightly, his eyes closed. "Just – just a minute."

Alexander nodded but continued to look at him, concern in his eyes. Jefferson wasn't ready for him to take his hand, but he embraced it and relished it. Hamilton's hand was warm against his own, holding him in the present, drawing him back to reality.

The world was turning upside down; he could it feel it, shifting and moving around the two of them, but it was setting him right, keeping him firm.

He felt himself relaxing, his eyes still shut. He breathed, in and out, in and out. Hamilton watched. Jefferson should have been more uncomfortable under his gaze, but it was comforting, Hamilton was there and he was solid and he was helping.

Finally, he opened his eyes. Hamilton was staring up at him worriedly, their hands still interlocked.

Hamilton whispered again, "Are you okay?"

Jefferson swallowed. He nodded.

"Do you know where you are?"

He nodded again. Hamilton nodded back. "Good," he said breathily. "Good. Does this – does this happen often?"

Jefferson shook his head, still staring directly into Alexander's eyes. "Just after stressful things."

Hamilton's expression suddenly turned regretful. "Do you mean the meeting? Was this – did this happen because of me?"

Jefferson didn't have the heart to tell him yes, it was his words and his voice that overwhelmed him, throwing him off the edge. He didn't have to. Hamilton knew.

"Oh my God," he mumbled, searching Jefferson's eyes for resentment. "I'm – I'm so sorry. I didn't know."

"It's okay."

"No, no – shit," Hamilton stammered, shaking his head. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"We're not exactly friends," Jefferson replied, trying to make it sound like a joke, but he was still shaky, it came out flat.

Hamilton looked like a kicked puppy, and, to Jefferson's own surprise, he wanted to kiss his forehead, tell him that's not what he meant.

"We're not?"

Jefferson didn't really know; were they friends? Or were they something else, something deeper and more meaningful that surpassed friendship? He settled for, "We _weren't_ ," because at least that was true.

Hamilton still didn't look so sure, but he just sighed and took Jefferson's other hand. "I'm sorry. Don't let me go that far."

Jefferson, against his own will to fight, nodded, unable to stop the gentle smile on his lips. He realized their proximity; they were so close, he could just lean forward slightly, just one small step, just one breath, and their lips could be touching, he could do it –

He didn't. Instead, he let go of Hamilton's hands and wrapped his arms around the man's shoulders, embracing him tightly, expressing his thanks as best as he could.

Hamilton was surprised at first, but after just a moment, he returned the action, holding Jefferson close and tucking his head into his neck, breathing in his smell. He was much too comfortable but he didn't let go.

Jefferson pulled away first, his cheeks tinted a light pink. A little smile found its way to his lip. "Thank you."

Hamilton nodded. "Any time, Jefferson."

And they parted ways, wishing they hadn't.

~*~

There was a knock at Jefferson's door. It was nearly midnight, and someone was knocking at his front door. He stared at the wall in annoyance, willing the person to just go away. He just wanted to spend the night quietly reading, minding his own business, and someone had to just go and ruin that. He tried to go back to reading.

Whoever was at the door kept banging, and finally shouted, "Jefferson! I know you're home!"

It was Hamilton, and Jefferson was annoyed that he wasn’t annoyed anymore. He opened the door almost excitedly.

"Hamilton?" he asked, an eyebrow raised. "What are you doing here?"

"Can I come in?" he asked, entirely ignoring the question. He was in loose-fitting jeans and a sweatshirt, and Jefferson wasn't sure that he had ever seen the man so unprofessional. He absently noted that it was adorable.

"Uh, yeah, I guess," he said, opening the door wider and allowing Hamilton to enter. "Is something wrong?"

Hamilton shook his head as Jefferson shut the door. "No. Er – not really. Yes. I don't know."

Jefferson reached over and placed his hands on Hamilton's shoulders (he totally hadn't been waiting for an excuse to touch him). "Breathe. What's going on?"

Hamilton shook his head. "It's nothing serious, I just – I just wanted to see you."

Jefferson looked down at him and felt himself grin. He felt like a little school boy, excited that his crush acknowledged him; it was ridiculous but it was real.

"Why?" he asked, though he didn't really care; Hamilton wanted to see him, and that shouldn't have made him as happy as it did.

Hamilton seemed to be at a loss for words, possibly for the first time. He shook his head slightly, meeting Jefferson's eyes. "I – I don't know."

That was good enough for Jefferson, but he kept asking questions, instead of inviting Hamilton into the sitting room for some whiskey, maybe both get just tipsy enough to do something they might regret. "Are you okay?"

Hamilton grinned, breathless. "I'm great." He nodded along, far too happy to be here so late at night. "I just – had a realization."

They had absently moved in closer, their toes almost touching. Their breath mingled between them, their eyes unmoving. Jefferson wanted to reach out and touch his face; he restrained himself.

"And what's that?" he whispered, searching Hamilton's face for any answer. They stared in silence, motionless and filled to the brim with emotion.

And suddenly Hamilton's lips were on his, softly, gently, tempting. He pulled away as quickly as he approached.

Jefferson's face burned, his lips tingling and his brain foggy. Hamilton kissed him. Hamilton _kissed_ him. And it was _good_. He couldn't help the smile making its way to his lips.

Hamilton was staring at him, looking afraid, as if he thought Jefferson might throw him out right then.

But Jefferson didn't think. He rushed forward, slamming his lips onto Hamilton's and shoving him up against the door, grasping at his hips and holding them close. Hamilton gasped, letting out a yelp when he hit the door, but he reacted almost instantly, responding naturally, reaching his hands up to tug at Jefferson's hair, tangling his fingers in the tiny curls.

They moved in tandem, giving and taking, nipping and kissing, feeling and touching, back and forth. Jefferson dragged his lips along Hamilton's throat, sucking at his neck, eliciting a moan from the other man. Hamilton tugged Jefferson back up, connecting their lips again, sticking his tongue out to lick Jefferson's bottom lip.

The groaned and grasped at each other, trying to get closer, so painfully, blissfully close. The world was shifting around them, not turning upside down but finally turning right-side-up, finally fitting into place.

They broke away, breathing heavily, lips numb, heads fuzzy. They didn't know what to say; what could have been said?

They leaned their foreheads together, staring each other in the eyes wordlessly. Jefferson smiled to himself and pressed his lips against Hamilton's again, softly but with meaning.

He pulled away, still smiling. Hamilton mirrored his expression.

"This is crazy," he whispered humorously.

"Yes, it is," Jefferson agreed, nodding.

Hamilton grinned widely, and Jefferson nearly lost it. He was too endearing, too beautiful.

Hamilton's eyes sparkled. "Let's do it again."

"My pleasure."

It certainly was.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm always down for a 5+1 fic honestly it's a problem
> 
> i can't seem to stop writing about these idiots somebody help me
> 
> this was super cliche but i also kind of like it, i mean it feels a little forced but idk just go with it
> 
> thank you for reading this, and comments are always appreciated!


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